The world-famous email column

Issue #32 – “A Day in the Life” – November 2002

-I know all too well the stress of working. As a Wall Street drone I had my share of endless meetings, bad coffee, and hungover Fridays. Since I left Wall Street this summer, I’ve discovered a whole new world – the world of the unemployed. I noticed an interesting thing the other day as I strolled down Third Avenue at 2pm on a Wednesday. There was a hell of a lot of people outside! And these were not investment bankers on a lunch break or job hunters going to an interview. These people were straight-up unemployed and get this…they looked happy. In these trying times, my generation is only interesting in two things: trying to get laid and trying not to get laid off. Of course, with no real job to get laid off from, I’m only interested in one thing. Welcome to a day in the life…

-I like to start my day off at the gym. I belong to a really nice gym, I don’t know, maybe even a little too nice. The first time I went in there this dude took me on a tour of the place. He was all perky like, “Here is the spa, next to it is the aerobics center, and over there is the double-paned, temperature-controlled, soundproof yoga facility!” I was like, dude, can you show me some weights or something, cause I’m starting to feel a little uncomfortable.

-I’ve noticed that, when working out, people always wear shorts or a t-shirt from the last organized league they played in. The huge guy doing squats has his college lacrosse shorts on. I’m there with a shirt from my high school soccer team. And the fat dude in the corner with his middle school tennis shirt on, well, you know he hasn’t worked out in a while.

-The gym is full of people pretending to look in the mirror. Guys are taking a drink from the water fountain, sneaking a peak at their abs, picking up a towel, checking out their biceps. Everyone is pretending to look. I say we screw all this pretend nonsense. We’re all in the gym so that we look better in the mirror, so why is looking in the mirror at the gym such a bad thing? Hell I’m full-out flexing and I’m the smallest dude there.

-How come I can run three miles on the treadmill no problem but if later in the day I run up three flights of stairs I think I’m gonna have a heart attack?

-Sometimes I’ll watch TV while running the treadmill and see a commercial for a gym where there are tons of hot chicks running the treadmill and I’ll look around at the ugly dudes next to me and think, am I in the wrong gym?

-After working out, it’s time to grab something to eat. As I said in Ruminations #28, I have no idea how to cook. Even in elementary school, when on the holidays every kid baked cupcakes or something, I always volunteered to bring in napkins.

-Ever notice that when the waiter brings your food over and says “Be careful the plate is hot,” the first thing you do is touch the plate?

-Every New Yorker has them. In a drawer, on a table, in the closet. Menus. Hundreds of them, most left by furtive delivery men who jam them under your door. And we all have the same stack: 400 menu – one deli, one pizza place, one Chinese place and 397 Japanese restaurants, including Yeah Sushi, Yo Sushi, Go Sushi and Ho Sushi. And they all suck.

-Hey ladies, I know you’re trying your best, but if you drench every morsel of food with gobs of that Butter Spray crap, you’re sort of defeating the purpose. Thanks.

-When I was growing up on Long Island, there was one cardinal rule when it came to food: no really sweet cereal. This was the mid-80s, there was lead paint on the walls, asbestos in the schools, but sugary cereal, that was what my parents deemed the real danger. If I was really good I would get Honey Nut Cheerios instead of regular Cheerios. Now that I can eat whatever I want, I go nuts, mixing like Frosted Flakes and Cinnamon Toast Crunch together in the same bowl. I still remember the first time I had Lucky Charms. I mean, I had never seen marshmallows in a box before, it was unbelievable!

-After eating I’ll usually run a couple of errands. The other day I had to pick up a piece of nice fake art for my apartment. In case you didn’t know, it is required for former frat boys living in New York to have fake Picassos and shit hanging in our common rooms. It makes us look distinguished.

-My next errand is usually to hit up the local bookstores, grab a bunch of copies of my book from the humor section, and put them all on the table in the front of the store, next to the Pulitzer Prize winning hardcovers about Vietnam. That should help move a few more copies. By the way, I’ve been getting a ton of emails from fans of my book who’ve told me they’ve shared their copy with their whole office, frat house, or family. OK, listen up, new rule: NO LENDING. Make everyone buy their own, otherwise I won’t make enough to support my current life of sloth. Thanks!

-On my way to the bookstore I passed a GAP store. In the window was a big sign that said “The Black Pant is Back!” They must be pretty desperate if they are trying to bring back the scourge of society that is black pants. I’m sorry, but I think the GAP has lost all privileges to tell us what is cool and what is not. I mean, the last time I went in there the jeans were so tapered they made my ankles sweat.

-My next stop is the barber to get a little trim. There is something really strange about my barbershop. There are porn magazines in the waiting area. The thing is, it’s just one of those rules of being a guy that if there’s porn, you have to look at it (just like if there are chicks making out, you have to stare). Of course when anyone walks in, I immediately put down the Penthouse and pick up Car & Driver. The porn sat there between me and this guy, who was giving me a weird look. Finally I said, “It’s OK dude, I already checked it out, it’s all yours.”

-After the barber/porn shop, I started on my way home. I passed a cute chick with a dog so I stopped to pet it. I have never in my life guessed the correct sex of a dog. If I say, “Oh, he’s really friendly,” the owner will say with a scowl, “Actually it’s a she.” If later I spot a dog and say, “Oh, she’s really friendly,” the owner will hiss, “Actually it’s a he.” Oh yeah, well if you’re so smart why are you picking up dog shit off the street?

-After my canine tribulations, it’s back to my apartment. Make any comment about a person’s apartment, good or bad, and you’ll always be met with the same response: “Oh, I’m never home anyway.” “I’m never here.” “I’m never home, never!” Apparently no one actually lives in their apartments. All those menus and fake art are going to waste because no one is ever home! Except me. I’m always home. I have nothing to do. Call me, I’ll be here.

-On a side note, my apartment has central air. And I when I say central air, I mean the entire apartment building is on the same system. One day in October the management board of the apartment meets and decides when to switch the whole building from A/C to heat. That seems a little Communist to me, don’t you think?

-Then it’s time to make plans to head out for the night and chase some tail. Do you have friends that live with people that you are not friends with? When you call their apartment phone you hope the roommate doesn’t pick up because then you are forced to have an awkward conversation about what you are doing that night even though they’re not coming out with you and ask stupid questions about their day even though you don’t really care and it’s five minutes of your life that you will never get back and next time you think you’ll just call your friend’s cell phone instead.

-I’m really pissed because this chick I’m into is a textbook Serial Monogamist. That’s right, she just goes from boyfriend to boyfriend without ever dating in between. I don’t know how that’s physically possible. I’m gonna wait for an opening though and get back to you on this one.

-If, by about 2am, none of my leads are panning out, I’ll start scrolling through the trusty cell phone address book to see what girls I can hit up late night. I use the latest technology in this endeavor. My phone has this great feature that let’s me turn off my outgoing caller ID so that my number won’t show up when I call someone that late (so if they don’t pick up, my identity won’t be revealed in the missed call). I call it the “booty call button.”

-On November 1st I had to do that once-a-year tradition: the Halloween Walk of Shame. I woke up somewhere on the upper east side and had to get home dressed as a soccer player, complete with cleats, shin guards, shorts, and my old jersey. It was freezing cold, I had no jacket and I couldn’t see shit because I took my contacts out. It was not a pretty sight but I managed to stumble back to my apartment, throw some sneakers on and, still wearing my soccer shirt of course, head out to the gym where it was time to start another day in the life…

-As always, here are random some things I’ve been ruminating about lately…

-Can I ask a stupid question? What the fuck do you do with all your hangers? I get all this dry cleaning back and the amount of hangers I have accumulated is enormous. I literally have a closet full of hundreds of hangers. Help!

-Pet peeve: soft toilet seats. Ugh, the worst. No matter what they always have that warm feeling like someone was just there and they make that “pfsssst” when you sit down. No thanks, I’ll just hold it in.

-My buddy Claudio has one of those toilet seats that won’t stay up. He’s so lazy, that instead of holding the seat up he actually sits down when he has to take a piss.

-Since I only use a cell phone and don’t even have a landline, I’ve started to experience the strange phenomenon of getting telemarketing calls on my cell phone. I don’t know, for some reason I feel kind of bad telling salesmen I can’t talk because I just got out of the shower when they can clearly hear the piercing sirens and cursing cabbies as I walk down 23rd Street.

-How many times do I have to say this? When I call your cell phone and leave a message and then you call me back and get my voicemail, there’s no reason to leave your number. I already have it. I called you first, remember?

-Recently I returned for my second Homecoming at the University of Pennsylvania. Your second Homecoming is definitely a lot different than your first. By this time you’re considerably older and fatter. I pulled my groin playing beer pong for god’s sake. It was a very stressful time for me though because there were so many people there of different ages, from pre-frosh to alumni. And since I have earned a sort of quasi-minor celebrity status on campus because of my book, everyone knows who I am but I have no fucking clue who anyone else is. In a drunken stupor I must have asked ten different chicks if they were freshmen. They’re all like, “Karo, you asked me that already. Twice. And I’m older than you are. Asshole.” Oops, my bad. Do you still want me to sign your book?

-Did you know that it was Columbus Day a few weeks ago? Yeah, neither did I. I think the only people that have off on Columbus Day are fifth graders and people in Los Angeles.

-Speaking of holidays, did they move Christmas up or something this year? It seems like the holidays are starting earlier and earlier. Stores have Christmas trees up before they even get rid of the pumpkins from Halloween. I’m just waiting for the sign at the GAP to say: “Christmas is now December 1st!”

-Can stores please make their automatic doors open up when you’re a little bit farther away so I don’t have to do that awkward pause right in front of the doorway because the doors haven’t opened yet and I’m only two inches away and starting to think the door is broken? That or put some handles on those motherfuckers.

-Will someone please tell me why they still make umbrellas with pointy spokes on them? You would think it’s common sense that anything wielded at eye-level with limited visibility should be rounded at the ends.

-OK, I’m gonna rip into myself for once. I’m that guy who, when we are watching a movie together and I’ve seen it already, keeps saying, “Oh, this next part is hilarious” or “I love this scene, watch what he does now.” I realize that that is very annoying and I dutifully apologize.

-Why does the bank close early? What makes the bank so damn special that it thinks it can do whatever it wants and check out at four in the afternoon while everyone else is still hard at work? Well, everyone except for me I guess.

-How come the more reckless, dangerous, and unpredictable the vehicle, the less likely I am to wear a seat belt? Driving in the suburbs in a Volvo? I’m all buckled up, safe and secure. Careening school bus? Maniacal taxi? No thanks, I’ll just hold on real tight while you speed and swerve. What the fuck is wrong with me?

-Speaking of cabs, I find that when I’m just standing on a corner waiting for someone, cabs will pull up as if they think I need one, even though I haven’t hailed one nor do I want one. Do I just have that look or something? Do I look like someone who really needs a ride? Is that bad? How come I can’t get a cab when I actually do need one?

-Why do cab drivers get so upset when you hit traffic? It’s not like they’re getting out.

-It really bothers me when bartenders give me back all singles. Listen, I understand the purpose is to encourage me to tip you, but giving me a wad of 13 bills is not what I call good service.

-I feel bad for people who are not from a major city or a well-known place. These are the people who pick the biggest city closest to where they were born and then tell people they’re from “near” there. Like people who say they’re from “North of Boston” or “Near Phoenix” when in reality they’re from like two hours away and everyone just assumes they’re from Boston or Phoenix anyway.

-Why are all car commercials exactly the same? It’s all just a car coming over a hill while the announcer says they’re offering 0% APR. Well here’s a question, what the fuck is APR?

-I think we can all agree that Coors Light has the greatest commercials on TV right now. Those twins, football, food, partying, those twins again. I mean, come on, it’s great. Those twins, man I love ‘em. I can honestly say I have increased my purchasing of Coors Light since I started seeing those commercials. Thank you twins, thank you so very much.

-If I see one more Orbitz pop-up ad on the Internet I’m gonna fucking kill someone.

-Why am I constantly being bombarded with mass emails containing “new contact info” from people I never contact in the first place?

-And, finally, the other day I had to do something I haven’t done in years. I actually wrote a letter and mailed something. I mean, I pay all my bills online. When the woman on the phone gave me the street address I didn’t even know what to do. What do you mean there’s no web site? So I started to type the letter on Word and then that fucking paper clippy thing popped up and said, “It looks like you are typing a letter, would you like help?” Yeah, I’m actually out of envelopes, can you pick some up for me jerk-off? Then my roommate said my letter seemed a little heavy so I should put some more stamps on it. What are you some kind of new superhero that can magically calculate postage? Screw you and screw Mr. Clippy over there, I can do this myself! Then I went ahead and licked all the stamps and stuck them to the envelope. On the top left corner. Fuck me.